


two in the bush

by Gavroche_A



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cas loves plants, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, Destiel Reverse Bang 2019, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), No Gadreel (Supernatural), No Smut, Pining, Post-Hell Trials Sam Winchester, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gavroche_A/pseuds/Gavroche_A
Summary: "a bird in hand is better than two in the bush"newly fallen, castiel is adjusting to his human life. he's beginning to like it; the long drives with dean, learning about computers from sam. but then the trials rear their ugly head, and cas realizes that he's unable to help the winchesters like he used to. desperation to save his family leads the former angel to make a deal, as winchesters do. but what he gets isn't exactly what he wished for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the amazing art of beefnerdles that can be found here:  
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/1NMvGfNmjVP6mTdiEoHRVLjAlMs1Aoun9/view?usp=drivesdk

By the time Castiel made it back to the bunker, Sam had already been released from the hospital. Not that Castiel would have been able to do anything more for his friend than the doctors had, in his current state.

The night the angels fell, Cas had not been able to get in touch with either of the Winchesters. He found out later that it was because Dean’s phone had died while he sat in the waiting room of the emergency department, unsure if Sam was going to make it through the night. Cas couldn’t blame him for not calling, with everything going on. Sam would always be the most important person in Dean’s life, after all, and Cas had made it through the night okay.

And he’d made his way back to the bunker fine, too, even though it had taken him almost a week. When Cas finally got in touch with Dean, the older Winchester had wired him some money for a bus ticket and food. Still, he’d been tired, hungry, and cold, and his clothes were wet and filthy when he stumbled up to the bunker’s door and knocked.

Dean had answered the door looking just as exhausted as Cas felt. His bright green eyes were frayed and tense, and Cas hadn’t missed the way the hunter’s lips pressed tight with worry and his shoulders seemed to sink under an even heavier weight when he took in the sight of the fallen angel in front of him. 

Cas had known then, just as he knew now that having him in the bunker, weak, useless,  _ human  _ was just another burden on his friends. But he ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him to leave, because after a long moment of staring, Dean had wrapped his arms around him, pulled him close, and pressed his face into Cas’ neck. And the former angel had felt, at least for a moment, as if he  _ could  _ give Dean something after all.

Which was why he was in the kitchen now, waiting for the kettle on the stove to shriek its readiness so he could take the tea he was making to Sam. The younger Winchester was still “not at one hundred percent,” as Dean put it, although Sam insisted he was fine about one hundred times a day, by Castiel’s count. The former angel knew that Dean was worried about his brother, and with good reason. The Trials had taken their toll on Sam, and if Dean hadn’t gotten him to the hospital as quickly as he had, he likely would have died, despite the fact that he hadn’t actually completed them.

Still, Cas knew that there was only so much that doctors could do for a sickness they couldn’t possibly hope to understand. The strength of the magic Sam had been using was enough to start shutting down his organs. The doctors had told Dean that whatever had been causing the damage had stopped before it became fatal, but that didn’t mean recovery would be quick or easy.

More than anything else about falling, Cas regretted the fact that he couldn’t do anything to ease Sam’s pain. Not long ago, to heal him would have been little more than a thought. He could have taken away his fatigue, his breathlessness, his soreness and scars and everything else. If only he had not been naive enough to trust Metatron.

Sam wasn’t the only one who was suffering from the uselessness that had resulted from Castiel’s stupidity. The former angel knew that Dean was struggling. Worry about Sam’s health was enough weight to place on his shoulders, but Cas knew the hunter was also concerned about him. Dean was a constant presence, drifting around the bunker cleaning, cooking, bullying Sam into taking his pain medication and Castiel into getting some sleep.

Castiel hated sleep. He hated the slow silence of lying in bed in the dark, waiting for its heaviness to fade over him. He hated the dreams that always accompanied it; dreams of falling, of Naomi and her office, of Metatron’s smirk as he stole Castiel’s grace. They often had him jerking awake in the middle of the night, breathing heavily and disoriented. Even more than the nightmares, though, he hated that he needed to sleep at all. But the worst thing was that he knew by the baggy, redness of Dean’s eyes that the hunter wasn’t getting enough rest. And that was, at least partially, Castiel’s fault.

Castiel pocketed the bottle that contained Sam’s pills and then carefully removed the kettle from the stove. He poured the hot water into Sam’s mug, watching as it faded from clear to a translucent greenish brown. As he stirred it, he added plenty of milk and the tiniest spoonful of sugar. This was something he had learned how to do, some small burden he could lift from the Winchesters’ shoulders.

Cas could make Sam tea. He could take him his medicine so that Dean didn’t have to. He could remember how not to burn himself on the hot surface of the stove, so that he didn’t need to be taken care of, too.

It didn’t feel like enough.

He found Sam sitting in the library, in a soft, plush chair Cas had helped Dean move in from one of the smaller rooms for him. His laptop was open on the table in front of him, and he was so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he startled a little when Cas said his name.

“My apologies, Sam. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Castiel ducked his head, placing the steaming mug on the table next to Sam’s laptop. “I made you tea.”

Sam nodded absently, still focused on the screen in front of him. “Thanks, Cas.” 

Castiel pulled the pill bottle out of his pocket and unscrewed the lid, tipping the pills out into his hand and offering them to the hunter. “You should take your medicine when it cools off enough. It might be a bit too hot right now.” Castiel had learned the discomfort of a burned tongue the hard way.

Sam nodded again, but didn’t reach for the pills, so Castiel set them carefully on the table next to the mug. He eyed the blanket draped over the back of Sam’s chair. It was one of Dean’s, and the former angel could imagine the hunter insistently pulling it over Sam’s shoulders, because “It gets drafty down here, Sammy,” despite the fact that his younger brother had already been forced into a thick, fleece-lined sweatshirt and pants. It filled the former angel with an odd mixture of fondness and concern. 

“I’m fine, Cas. I promise.” Sam sighed, having evidently misinterpreted Castiel’s hovering as worry for him. He had finally looked away from his computer to give Cas a reassuring smile. 

The former angel returned the expression to the best of his ability. “Okay.” He nodded. He knew the younger Winchester wasn’t as okay as he’s like him to think, but he also understood from recent experience how frustrating it could be to be fussed over constantly. He paused, and then pulled out a chair to sit beside Sam, trying to act as normal as possible, under the circumstances. “What are you reading?”

Sam studied Cas for a moment, and then he sighed, turning back to his computer. “It’s…it’s stupid, honestly. But I...I’ve been looking at cases.” 

“Sam--”

“I know, Cas. We can’t hunt right now. I’m not ready. You’re not ready. And Dean would get himself killed trying to keep us both safe.” He sighed, not meeting Cas’ eyes. “And that’s assuming his head didn’t explode from stress just from me suggesting it. I’m  _ not  _ saying we should take a case.”

Cas paused, frowning. “Then why?”

Sam sighed again. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been thinking...I thought I was gonna stop all of this.” He clicked through some tabs on his computer, pulling up a family portrait; a man holding his two smiling children. “These are the Johnsons. They died last night, in their house in Colorado. Lots of blood. Lots of sulfur.”

Cas closed his eyes, trying again. “Sam--”

“No, Cas, if I had just kept going, they’d still be alive.” His voice broke, and Cas opened his eyes to see tears shining in Sam’s. “And I thought I stopped so that I could fight another day, y’know? But instead I’m just  _ sitting here. _ ”

There was a heavy silence between them for a long moment. 

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Cas’ voice came out even rougher than usual.

“S’not your fault, Cas.”

“Isn’t it?” Castiel asked, shaking his head. “If I hadn’t lost my grace, I would be able to heal you. Not to mention all the other trouble I caused for Heaven by listening to Metatron. You could be out there, helping people. Dean could--” His voice broke, and he had to take a deep breath. He hated the unpredictable volatility of human emotions. “Dean wouldn’t have to take care of me when he should be focusing on you. Or, God forbid, himself.”

Sam shook his head. “Cas, you know Dean doesn’t--”

Cas waved him off, standing up and pushing his chair in. Things he was learning humans were meant to do. “Where  _ is  _ Dean?” He asked, the quickest subject change he could come up with.

Sam eyed him for a moment, and Cas was afraid he was going to push the issue, but instead he finally sighed. “He’s in the stacks, researching something. Wouldn’t tell me what.” Cas nodded, and turned to go. “If you find him, try to convince him to lie down, okay?”

Cas nodded again. “I always do.” He paused, gesturing to Sam’s cooling tea. “Drink that before it gets cold.” He said. “Please.”

Cas started to leave again, but Sam called out after him. “And Cas?” The former angel paused, turning to look at his friend. “Please don’t tell Dean, about…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his computer. “He’s already worried enough.”

Cas had to agree with that sentiment. “Don’t worry, Sam. I won’t.”  _ I’ll find a way to fix it myself. _


	2. Chapter 2

Just as Sam promised, Cas found Dean sorting through dust-covered bookshelves in the bowels of the bunker. Sam has been in the process of cataloguing and organizing the Men of Letters’ impressive collection of lore books and artifacts, before the trails had derailed that project. Castiel has spent time wandering the many rooms of the bunker, in his first few days there as a human. There were places where the dust had yet to be disturbed, and others where it had resettled, a thinner layer of fine gray stillness, having once been disrupted and then abandoned in the messiness of the brothers’ lives.

Cas scrunched his nose in displeasure at the tickling sensation the stirred up dust gave him. He really didn’t want to sneeze, if he could help it. The first time had been unpleasant enough, even if it had warmed something deep in his chest when Dean had laughed at the way he glowered at the offending flower. It was the first real laugh he had seen from the hunter in he had no idea how long. Still, it had left him watery-eyed and grumpy.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas greeted the hunter after a moment of waiting for Dean to notice him. 

Dean jerked his head up from the thick book he had been poring over. From this distance, with his weak human eyes, Cas couldn’t tell what it was about. He was quickly distracted from his attempts to read upside down, anyway, by Dean’s tight, breathless voice.

“Is something wrong? Where’s Sam?”

Cas looked up and found Dean’s worried eyes trained on him, wide and red-rimmed. His muscles were tensed, as if he was ready to leap from his seat and sprint to his younger brother’s side in a moment. Cas’ chest constricted with guilt. He hadn’t meant to scare him.

“Sam is fine.” He assured him, trying to make his voice firm enough that Dean would believe him. “He’s sitting in the library, um...reading. I just made him some tea and took him his medicine.”

Dean relaxed minutely, but Cas could still see a hint of uncertainty and concern in his body language. “Yuck. I don’t know what it is with you two and that stuff. If I wanted to drink leaf water I’d go take a sip out of the stream behind the garage.” He made an exaggerated face of disgust, and Cas recognized it for what it was; an attempt to dispel the tension with humor. He didn’t comment on it. And then he could almost feel Dean’s gaze tracking his own body, trying to get a sense for how he was doing. Suddenly self-conscious, Cas looked away, feeling his cheeks heat against his will. Human bodies were so responsive. He was still getting used to the feeling of being betrayed by his own skin. “How are you, Cas? Do you need anything?”

Ridiculously, Cas felt the smallest flash of bitterness at having come second in Dean’s concern. He stamped it down as quickly and completely as he could. It made sense that Dean would think of Sam first, for a lot of reasons. It should be enough that Cas even made Dean’s list. It was more than he deserved, really. “I’m fine, too, Dean.”

The hunter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what Sammy keeps saying, too. C’mon, man. Be honest with me. Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

Cas bristled a little, defensive for no good reason. Part of him knew that Dean was only asking because he wanted to help, but it felt like scratching a sore scab, like an accusation of weakness. It was not useful to need to be asked after in this way, like a child who could not take care of himself. It was a burden on Dean, one that the hunter did not deserve, especially when he already had so much to carry. He took a deep breath, trying to shove those thoughts aside. “I’m not...it is just...unusual, still. But I’m managing.” 

Dean nodded, but Cas could tell the hunter didn’t totally buy it. Thankfully, he didn’t press the issue. “Are you hungry? I got some frozen pizzas for dinner, but if you want something else, I could--”

Cas shook his head. “Pizza sounds lovely, Dean. But I’m not starving just yet.” 

Dean nodded again, satisfied. They paused in a comfortable silence for a few moments, Dean still seated at his table, Cas standing nearby, watching him. After a moment, Dean’s downcast eyes seemed to pick up on the open book still sitting in front of him, and Cas watched as he returned to his study of its contents. He took in the way the hunter’s shoulders sagged, the tired movement of his lips soundlessly shaping the words he was reading. One hand dragged through his sandy hair, leaving it to stick up at odd angles that Cas found endearing. He could tell Dean was exhausted. Not only that, but now that he was examining him so closely, he thought the hunter looked a little too thin under his flannel, although he couldn’t be sure. He thought back, trying to remember the last time he’d seen Dean eat something. Despite the fact that the hunter had been cooking regular meals for both Cas and Sam like clockwork, he couldn’t.

Cas sighed. He pulled out a chair across the table from Dean, eyeing the books spread out before him again. Another task Dean had somehow decided was his to bear, without even telling either him or Sam what it  _ was. _ He opened his mouth, closed it, and then started again, cautiously. “I actually came down here to check on  _ you _ .”

Dean huffed, and Castiel immediately recognized his mistake. If he and Sam were both uncomfortable with being fussed over, Dean absolutely despised it. Cas could almost see his walls go up. “I’m not the one anybody should be worrying about right now. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, Dean.” Cas hurried to agree with him. “I just…” He paused, casting around for a way to worry over Dean without triggering the hunter’s need to push him away. His eyes caught on the books Dean had been reading. Maybe if he got him talking about whatever he was working on, Cas could get a feel for how Dean was coping. “Sam told me you were researching something. Is that what these books are for?” He picked up the nearest volume and read the cover. 

“Yeah, it’s just a--”

“ _ Workings of Heaven: Studies of Divine Power. _ ” Cas paused, frowning and picking up another book. “ _ A Preliminary Anatomy of Angels, _ ” another, “ _ History of and Notes on Angelic and Archangelic Grace.  _ Dean, is this...are you researching  _ me _ ?” It came out harsher than he meant for it to, and for a moment they just sat there in the tense silence, staring at each other.

Dean broke first. “Look, Cas. I’m not good at this. The book stuff, that’s usually Sammy. But I can’t put this on him right now, so--”

“Put  _ what  _ on him?  _ Me _ ? I didn’t realize I was such a burden to be carried.” Cas snapped. Really, it was unfair of him to be angry. It wasn’t as if Cas hadn’t thought the same things himself. But somehow, it hurt a lot more to hear Dean say it. 

“C’mon, Cas, you know that’s not what I meant.” Cas made an irritated noise, and Dean reached out to take the book from his hands. Or, at least, that was what Cas thought he was trying to do. Instead, they ended up with Dean’s hand covering Cas’ on the cover. He could see his own embarrassed surprise mirrored on Dean’s face. But the hunter didn’t let go. “It’s not just books, okay?” He amended. “It’s words. I’m bad at words in general. And I’m sorry. I just…” He sighed. “I’m just worried. Because we don’t know what all... _ this, _ ” he inclined his head in Cas’ direction as if to indicate  _ you falling and losing your powers and being weak and useless and human, _ “means. And I care about you, okay?”

The last words blossomed something soft and terrifyingly alive in Castiel’s chest. But he tried to ignore the pleasant feeling and cling to his irritation. “I told you, Dean. I’m fine.”

Dean pressed his lips closed tightly, but his voice came out remarkably calm when he spoke. “You keep saying that. And I hope you are, man I really do. But...well, Sammy seemed fine at the beginning of the trials. And then…” Cas didn’t miss the tiny break in Dean’s voice, despite the hunter’s skilled attempt to cover it, “I just don’t want to get blindsided again.”

Cas met Dean’s eyes, and there was a vulnerability there that melted his irritation. As frustrating as Dean’s constant worry was, he understood it. He’d nearly lost his brother in that church. And he’d lost the “ace up his sleeve” that had been Castiel’s powers. There had been a time when Cas prided himself on being the one Dean allowed himself to lean on, when he had grown up afraid to seek help from anyone. Now, though, Dean had lost whatever little stability Castiel had been able to offer. Without his grace, the former angel was just another burden; a “baby in a trenchcoat,” as Dean had once said. Another thing for Dean to worry about. Another person he needed to take care of. 

Castiel couldn’t blame Dean for wanting him to get his powers back. A man always at war needed his gun.

He told himself he was alright with being a tool in the older Winchester’s eyes. Whatever he needed. Whatever would make life even a breath more bearable for him. He tried very very hard to believe it.

“I understand.” He murmured, suddenly painfully aware of Dean’s hand warming his own. He broke their eye contact, pulling his hand away to brandish the book he held at Dean. “I just wish you would have asked me for help with this. I could tell you...well, where  _ not _ to look, at least. I mean, this book is full of inaccuracies.” 

Dean nodded, the openness in his eyes fading back into weary frustration. “I know. I just...you’re still adjusting to being human. I didn’t want you to have to worry about this, Cas.”

Cas sighed, his irritation flaring again. “But it’s alright for you to worry about everything for all of us?” He asked, not unkindly. “When was the last time you  _ slept,  _ Dean?”

Dean looked down, hand coming up as if by instinct to rub at his eyes. “It ain’t your job to worry about me, Cas.”

“Then whose job is it? Because you certainly won’t let Sam. We’re a family, Dean. This is what family does for each other.” Dean huffed, and Cas faltered for a moment, suddenly feeling presumptuous for having claimed that title for himself. “I...I just mean. I know I’m not as useful to you, like this. But I have...nowhere else to go, and I’m stuck this way, at least until we find a way to...to  _ fix  _ me.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but he ignored that. Dean wanted an Angel of the Lord, someone who could fly and smite and heal. So he’d do his best to be that again. “I’d like to do something to help, in the meantime.”

Dean had looked back up at Castiel while he spoke, but his expression was unreadable, even to the former angel who knew him so well. He thought he detected a pained tightness in the green of his eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Finally, he spoke. “Sam’s been bugging me to give him more green stuff to eat. How about later I show you how to make a salad while the pizza’s in the oven?”

Cas nodded, the ache in his chest decreasing slightly. He was still wanted. Needed. Taking care of Sam was one of the most important things Dean could entrust him with. Another human skill he could add to his mental resume, another reason to be allowed to stay.

It almost didn’t matter that Dean hadn’t confirmed Cas’ place as a part of the family. At least he hadn’t denied it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn’t read for much longer before he was slamming his book closed, making Cas jump at the sudden noise in the room’s quiet. He looked up from where he had been sorting books into stacks of useful texts versus unreliable sources, unwilling to leave Dean to research his gracelessness alone. 

“I should get to the kitchen.” Dean murmured, standing stiffly. Cas didn’t miss the way he winced as his knees popped from the change in position. He kicked himself for not forcing Dean to take a break sooner. Humans weren’t made to sit in still, hunched positions for long periods of time. 

Castiel’s own body reminded him of that fact, when he stood to follow Dean out of the room. He rolled his shoulders with a grimace, glad Dean had his back turned to him. The hunter didn’t look at him again until they made it to the kitchen.

As it turned out, making a salad was complicated. 

For one thing, there were a lot of ingredients to consider. Dean said that getting the balance of flavors right was vital, although Cas didn’t know how Dean would have any understanding of what that balance was, since the only “greens” Cas had ever seen him eat were sour apple flavored Jolly Ranchers. Nevertheless, he let the hunter lecture him on proportions, getting the feeling that if he checked the search history on his laptop, it would be a lot of articles and how to videos about making salad. The thought made him smile, just a little.

“What?” Dean asked, pausing in the act of slicing a tomato with a furrowed brow, evidently having noticed Cas’ expression.

“Nothing.” Castiel shook his head, keeping his eyes down, on the head of lettuce he was carefully washing. Apparently, Dean didn’t trust him not to cut his own fingers off with a knife yet, despite Castiel’s insistence that his prowess with an angel blade was enough to get him started, at the very least. “It’s just...you work very hard to take care of Sam. It’s... _ endearing. _ ” He glanced up to see how the hunter would take the description.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s my job, so…” he shrugged, but Castiel wasn’t in the mood to let him brush off praise so easily.

“No, Dean. It’s more than that.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. It makes me feel good, to take care of people. Useful. You included.”

Cas felt his face heat up, both with an inexplicably physical fondness for the man next to him, and with shame at the fact that Dean considered him someone to be taken care of. He was supposed to fill that roll, at least for Dean, who had never had anyone to watch over him before. He shook his head. “You do far too much trying to take care of me, and  _ that’s  _ certainly not your job.” 

Dean started to protest, but he was interrupted by the shuffle of feet in the hall, and then Sam appeared in the doorway. 

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel greeted him, happy to latch onto any excuse not to talk about his own needy state of being. 

The younger Winchester glanced between them with narrowed eyes, but he didn’t say anything about whatever tension he had noticed. Instead, he smiled softly at the former angel. “Hey, Cas. It smells good in here. What are you guys making?”

Dean spoke up this time, so Castiel returned his attention to his own task. “Pizza. And a stupid salad, for my giant rabbit of a baby brother.” 

Sam scoffed, but Cas was fairly sure it was with the kind of fake outrage humans used to demonstrate that they knew they were not being serious. “Hey! I bet Cas is gonna eat some, too. Are you gonna call  _ him  _ a rabbit?”

“There’s a difference between somebody who’ll eat a salad if it’s put in front of him, and somebody who requests it specifically, especially when pizza is an option.” Dean put a defensive hand on Cas’ shoulder, and he smiled. “Besides, Cas is new at being human, so he doesn’t know any better. He’ll come around.”

“C’mon, Cas, defend me here!” Sam called, but before the former angel could say anything, he felt Dean’s warmth disappear from his side.

“Hey, quit distracting my sous-chef. Or do you not want your salad? C’mon, man, sit down and I’ll pour you some OJ.” 

“I’m not five, Dean.” Sam protested, but the older Winchester was already opening the fridge. 

“You’re never too old for Vitamin C, Sammy.” Dean replied.

Cas’ smile widened, and he listened to the brothers’ playful bickering until they all sat down to eat.

***

Much to Dean’s dismay, Castiel liked salad.

He tried to ease the older Winchester’s ire by insisting that it was only because Dean’s instructions had made the salad so delicious, but that only made Dean recoil in horror, a hand grasping at his chest as if he had been pierced there by a blade.

“That’s  _ worse,  _ Cas!” He’d shrieked, green eyes wide. “That makes me like...a meat traitor.” He turned to the half-finished slice of pizza still on his plate. “I’m so sorry.” He breathed dramatically, caressing the crust with his greasy fingers.

They were all laughing at Dean’s antics when Sam started coughing.

Dean immediately snapped to attention, sobering so quickly it gave Castiel whiplash. “Sam?” Dean asked, voice strained, tense eyes trained on his little brother’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I think…” Sam cleared his throat, but it turned into another coughing fit. He bent double, a hand covering his mouth, and when he pulled it away, there were a few spots of dark red blood coalescing in his palm. “Oh.” He breathed, voice rough as he swayed in his seat.

“Sammy!” Dean cried, bolting around the table to brace him with his own body before he could fall over. 

For a moment, Castiel was sure that he had messed up somehow, and his salad was the cause of Sam’s ailment. The shame and guilt made him feel as if he would throw up his own portion of food. He blinked, and his shocked brain caught up to his stomach. It brought with it the obvious understanding that this must be related to the Trials, but the realization didn’t give him any relief. They still didn’t know how to  _ fix  _ it.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was strained as he patted his little brother’s face, trying to keep him conscious. The younger Winchester looked up at him blearily, and then another coughing fit wracked his body. Dean looked up at Castiel with terrified eyes. “Do something!” He demanded, voice harsh enough to make him flinch.

Castiel stared blankly back at him, hands twitching emptily at his sides. He only  _ thought  _ he knew what it meant to feel useless, but sitting there and watching Sam cough up blood, watching Dean cling desperately to his little brother, and being completely unable to do anything to help them shattered something inside of him.

His silence seemed to jog Dean’s memory, and his face fell as he turned his back on the broken exangel. “Stay with me, Sammy, come on.” He begged. He didn’t even look up at Castiel when he spoke to him again. “Help me get him to the car.”

Castiel didn’t blame him. He doubted he’d be able to look at himself right now, either. The voice in his head that berated him for being worthless suddenly sounded a lot like Dean.  _ What’s the point of having you if you can’t  _ do  _ anything? Sam could  _ die  _ and it will be all your fault. _

He shook off the weight of those words, and forced himself to stand on numb legs, to wedge himself against Sam’s side and drape the hunter’s arm over his shoulder. Together, he and Dean half-carried, half-dragged a barely awake Sam to the bunker’s garage, and arranged him as gently and as quickly as possible in the back seat.

Dean trusted him to drive, at least. Or maybe he just didn’t trust him to sit in the back with Sam. Either way, Castiel was immensely grateful for the (albeit limited) driving lessons Dean had given him, when he first made it back to the bunker. He forced himself to focus on the dark road ahead and Dean’s strained directions from the back seat. He was speeding, so he couldn’t afford to glance in the rear view mirror at where Sam’s head rested in Dean’s lap. It wouldn’t help anyone if Cas killed them all in a car wreck before they even made it to the hospital. 

It wasn’t that far, at least, not by midwest standards, but behind the wheel, it felt like forever. Castiel barely had the presence of mind to put the impala in park right in front of the Emergency Room’s doors. Then he was flying out of his seat, not even bothering to shut his door, to help Dean get Sam out of the back seat and inside. He would come back and park her properly once they had found help for Sam. It was a testament to exactly how terrified Dean was for his brother that he didn’t even comment about his car being towed. If there was one thing Dean cared about more than the impala, it was Sam.

As soon as the nurse behind the desk saw the blood on Sam’s mouth, she was shouting orders, and people materialized to load him onto a hospital bed and roll him away to be examined. It took Cas and two other nurses to keep Dean from barging through the double doors marked “Authorized Personnel Only” after the stretcher. 

“You can’t do anything for him right now, Dean.” Castiel pointed out. The words landed like a punch to his gut, as he remembered that, for the first time since he’d known the Winchesters, neither could he. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean refused to sit down in the waiting room, so Castiel didn’t sit, either. Dean may not have been the best blueprint for humanity, but he and Sam were the only ones Castiel had. Besides, focusing on what a human ought to do in this situation was easier than worrying about what might be happening to Sam behind the ER’s double doors.

Dean dragged an unsteady hand down his face, and then paused in his pacing. “What’s taking so long?” He hissed, making Castiel flinch. Dean didn’t seem to notice. “I’m gonna go ask at the desk again.”

Castiel nodded, but he might as well have been a decorative waiting area statue for all the good the movement did. Dean was striding towards the receptionist the moment he finished his sentence. Cas tore his gaze away from the hunter’s retreating back, looking around at the bland walls surrounding them. The waiting room wasn’t over full, but it wasn’t entirely empty, either. Cas didn’t have enough experience with hospitals to know if this was normal, or not. He had a feeling that Dean could tell him, if he were in any kind of mood to answer inane hospital trivia questions.

As much as Cas trusted Dean, he knew the hunter couldn’t always be relied upon to be honest about what he needed. Especially when worrying about Sam was involved. So, Cas decided he was going to have to take his cues from elsewhere.

He glanced around the waiting room. Nearby, two older women were sitting beside each other, leaned close enough together that their shoulders were pressed together. As subtly as possible, Cas watched the pair. They were holding hands. After a moment, the woman on the left whispered something to her companion, squeezed her hand, and rose, drifting off to the vending machine across the room.

Cas was familiar with this strategy. For some reason, humans were insistent on bringing each other food during difficult situations. Cas hadn’t understood it before, but it seemed especially ridiculous now, considering the sick roiling of his stomach. Food was the last thing he wanted at the moment. But humans always seemed to appreciate the gesture. Cas turned back to the seated woman, to try to analyze her reaction.

She was staring at him.

“You look lost, honey.” She told him kindly, patting the open seat beside her. “Come sit for a while. Trust me, things move slower when your feet hurt.”

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, but Dean was still nowhere to be found, and he  _ was  _ getting tired of standing, if he was being honest with himself. Another new, ridiculous human limitation. “Thank you.” He said, accepting the offered seat. “I am a bit lost. I’m...not used to having to spend time in hospitals. I’m not sure what exactly I’m meant to be doing.”

The woman looked at him, her face softening. “Just waiting, honey.” She said gently. “It’s in the name.”

Cas sighed, nodding. “I’m not good at that, it seems.” He murmured, more to himself than the woman. Then, suddenly, he remembered the human thing to do. He straightened a little, extending a hand to her. “I’m Castiel.”

The woman took his hand and shook it easily. “That’s quite the name. I’m Brooke.”

Cas nodded. “My, um. My friends call me Cas.”

Brooke smiled. “Well, Cas, you seem to be doing alright to me. Better than your friend who keeps terrorizing the nurses.”

Cas felt himself flush, an irrational need to defend Dean flaring in his chest. “He’s very worried. His younger brother is ill. He practically raised him.” He sighed, looking at his hands. “I’m concerned about both of them.” He wasn’t sure why he was sharing so much, but it felt nice to say it. 

Brooke nodded. “That’s my wife, Rachel.” She told him, indicating the other woman who was making her way back to them with what appeared to be several bags of chips in her hands. “Our daughter, she was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. We’re waiting for her to get out of surgery right now.” Brooke’s eyes welled with tears, but she managed to keep her voice steady. 

Cas’ heart ached. “I’m sorry.” He ground out, past the lump in his throat. He looked around the room, searching for something else to say, and a sudden realization took his breath away. Every person around them was also waiting to hear about a loved one’s health. Whether they would live or die. Whether their life would be changed forever. They all had a Sam Winchester somewhere behind those doors, fighting for their life. His chest felt tight, the waiting room’s bland walls suddenly too restricting. His true form would not have fit inside this space. If he was still that being, still had his grace, He could heal Brooke’s daughter. He could heal Sam. He could heal them all. 

He felt himself blinking back tears.

_ Worthless. Useless. Less than nothing,  _ the voice in his head snarled, as Rachel sat down on Brooke’s other side. “I’m sorry, I should…” Cas stood suddenly, desperate to escape, “I need to go check on Dean. I hope your daughter is alright.” With that, he fled on shaky legs in the direction he had last seen Dean.

He almost ran head first into the hunter. 

“Woah, hey, watch it Cas!” Dean exclaimed, barely escaping spilling the package he balanced in one hand while reaching out his free hand to steady the former angel. “Are you alright?” He asked, apparently noticing his distressed expression.

Castiel brushed him off, refusing to meet his eyes. “Fine.”

Dean frowned, not releasing Cas’ arm. “Hey, man, c’mon, talk to me.”

Cas bit his tongue, trying to hold back the part of him that wanted to break and tell Dean how miserably shattered and useless he felt, without his powers. But the feelings were swelling so strongly and painfully in his chest that he couldn’t contain it anymore. “I--”

“Winchester?”

The voice rang out through the quiet of the waiting room, causing both Dean and Cas to jump slightly. A nurse was standing just this side of the double doors, behind which Sam had disappeared, a clipboard in hand as she scanned the waiting room. “Winchester?” She called again. 

Dean stared at Cas for a moment longer, a torn expression in his eyes, before looking away. “Here!” He released Cas by waving a hand at her. 

The nurse jerked her head behind her, gesturing back to the ICU behind her. “One of you can come on back.”

Cas could feel Dean glance at him again, but he didn’t look up to meet his gaze. “I’ll let you know what they say.” Dean told him, and Cas nodded, still looking at his feet. “Here.” Dean added, shoving the package he’d been holding into Cas’ hands. It was a cardboard drink holder with two disposable cups of coffee. “You should sit down and drink something while you wait.”

Cas nodded again, stomach twisting guiltily. Of course Dean had beat him to being the caretaker. He always did. “Thank you.” He said, trying to make his voice steady, so Dean wouldn’t worry. “And Dean? If Sam is awake, tell him I’m here?” He asked. He might not be able to do anything, but he wanted the younger Winchester to know that he cared. 

“‘Course, Cas.” Dean said, patting his shoulder, and then he disappeared through the doors behind the nurse, leaving Cas alone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Cas didn’t drink the coffee.

Instead, he found a quiet corner of the waiting room, far away from Brooke and Rachel, and waited. The coffee grew cold where it sat in the chair beside him. Dean had called him not long after being led back to Sam’s room. The younger Winchester had still been asleep, but Dean had been able to talk to his doctor. “It’s not good, Cas.” He’d told him, his voice rough. “It’s...like what was happening before. His organs are shutting down. I don’t…” He’d trailed off, but Cas had felt an echo of the rest of the sentence in his chest.  _ I don’t know what to do. _

Cas didn’t know what to do either. He knew what he would have done, if he still had his powers. He could almost feel how his grace would flow through him to heal Sam. But he couldn’t do that. Instead, he sat in the waiting room, trying to collect himself enough to drive.

Dean had asked him to go back to the bunker to pick up some things. A change of clothes and toothbrush. His phone charger. John Winchester’s journal, so he could start calling in favors. It felt like busywork. But there was nothing else that Castiel could do. 

And he could barely do even this, as evidenced by how long he sat in his chair, staring at the floor between his feet, trying to breathe through the panic he felt at the prospect of losing Sam. Humans weren’t supposed to drive when they were upset. That was something Dean had told him, when he was giving him lessons. It had made Castiel laugh. How many times had Sam or Dean gotten behind the wheel in an emotional state much worse than his, at the moment? But still, he couldn’t make himself stand and make his way to the car. A ridiculous voice in his head said that Dean didn’t need the stress of Cas crashing his beloved car right now. It kept him rooted to his seat for a long time.

After what seemed like forever, Cas felt like he could move without falling apart. He dumped the coffee, still untouched, in a garbage can on his way out of the lobby.

The drive felt even longer, somehow, in the impala by himself. The bunker was like a ghost town.

Cas wandered through the empty rooms, collecting the items Dean had requested and a few other things he thought the hunter might want. A bag of chips from the kitchen--trying desperately not to think of Rachel and Brooke, as he avoided looking at the leftover pizza still scattered on the table--Sam’s laptop from the library. As he was picking John’s journal up from Dean’s bedroom, he had the idea to go down to the stacks and gather some of the books Dean had there, to give himself something to do while he sat in the waiting area.

The room was just as they had left it before dinner, which seemed like ages ago. He picked through the books numbly. It felt silly, now, to have been upset at Dean for looking through the lore like this. No wonder Dean had wanted to find a way to get his grace back. He was useless as a human. Maybe if he’d been helping Dean with the research, he’d have his powers back by now. Then he could do something to help Sam. Like this, though? It made sense that Dean had sent him away, to run errands. He was barely even good for that.

_ If Sam dies, Dean will hate you.  _ The voice in his head spat.  _ And he’ll be right to. It will be your fault. _

“No!” Castiel cried out in frustration and hurled the book he was holding across the room. 

“No.” He gasped again, shaking his head, not entirely sure who he was talking to. “No, he can’t die.” He was breathing hard, and he felt tears burning in his eyes, blurring his vision. “No, no, no, no, no…” He leaned against the table for support.

Castiel wasn’t sure how long he stood there, on the edge of tears, but finally, he managed to get himself under control. With a sigh, he crossed the room slowly and bent to pick up the book he’d thrown. It had landed upside down, open, with its pages flared violently against the hard floor. The spine read  _ The Ends of Angels.  _ Cas huffed bitterly, turning it over to smooth out the pages it had landed on.

It was open to a chapter on collecting angelic grace to be used in spells. Cas’ eyes caught on a paragraph about halfway down the page. 

“ _ Many practitioners have wondered if collecting the lost grace of deceased angels might not be easier than capturing a living angel and extracting its power. Since the Law of Conservation of Energy has been proven to hold true for magical energy, as well (Bailin, 1862), it stands to reason that even when an angel is killed, its grace continues to exist, although perhaps in a different form. The problem with this theory is that there has been some debate about what happens to an angel’s grace once it is separated from its vessel. There exists a summoning ritual in  _ Peadree’s Grimoire _ that is believed by some scholars to be intended for the entity which presides over the realm of discarded angels, but it has never been fully translated, so the required ingredients remain unknown. _ ”

Cas closed the book and dropped it into his bag before stepping further into the bunker’s stacks. It was a long shot, and maybe he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but he had heard of  _ Peadree’s Grimoire _ before, and it tended to be a reliable source, at least in the necromantic arts. Cas supposed retrieving an angel’s expelled grace fell at least partially into that category.

It took him more than half an hour, but eventually Cas found a copy of the text tucked between a dragon bestiary and a book on the different types of zombies. He sat down at a table in the library, placing the  _ Grimoire  _ in front of him reverently. He was, oddly, afraid to open it. This was it, the best lead he’d found on getting his grace back. On saving Sam. If there was nothing useful inside, then maybe Cas was stuck like this forever. Useless. Flightless. Mortal.

He texted Dean.

_ Following a lead. Be there as soon as I can. _

He silenced his phone, unwilling to let himself be distracted by it. There was nothing to do but look at the ritual, and see if he could translate it. One step at a time. 

He opened the book.

It was as if his fingers knew where to go. They flipped through the pages without Castiel’s direction, confidently leading him to a page near the center of the  _ Grimoire.  _

The markings he found weren’t words. At least, not in any language that Castiel recognized. For a moment, his spirits fell. He would be unable to save Sam. That was far worse than the prospect of staying human. He was alright with the way he was, if only it didn’t make him useless to the only family he had. 

But then he blinked, and the markings shifted in his mind. They still weren’t language, exactly. But Castiel could understand them.

“ _ Summoning the Empty _ ,” the top of the page read. He scanned over the rest of the page. It was, in fact, a summoning ritual. The ingredients were fairly basic. He was almost positive that all of them could be found in one place or another within the bunker. He took a deep breath. 

This could really be it. If this “Empty” was really in charge of dead angels’ grace, perhaps it would know how to retrieve Castiel’s. Perhaps he could bargain with it. He could be himself again. He could have his wings back. Even without the promise of being able to heal Sam, this would be a good thing. 

Something twisted nervously in his stomach. For some strange reason, his mind flickered back to earlier that day, when Dean had tried to teach him how to cook. He recalled the gentleness in the hunter’s eyes when he withheld the knife he used to cut vegetables, in an attempt to protect him. He thought about the kindness of offering him a job anyway, so he could be included. Nothing as simple as that had ever been given to him when he was an angel. The very human anxiety he felt spiked, making his hands shake. He told himself it was fear that this wouldn’t work. That Dean wouldn’t look at him like that anymore if he let Sam die. And how selfish would it be to even consider allowing that to happen? Besides, Cas wanted this. 

As he set about gathering the listed ingredients from the bunker’s various storage rooms, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was Dean.

_ Stay safe, Cas.  _

Before he could put his phone away, the screen lit up again. The words solidified his resolve.

_ I need you right now. _

Cas tucked his phone back in his pocket without responding, but Dean’s words echoed in his mind. Dean needed him.

_ Don’t worry,  _ he thought in response,  _ you’ll have your angel back soon. _


	6. Chapter 6

The ritual is surprisingly simple. Were it not for the strange sense of being outside language that his understanding of the  _ Grimoire _ ’s instructions carried, Castiel would be surprised that no one had ever been able to translate it. As it was, though, he had a suspicion that the text was enchanted somehow, to only be accessible to certain readers. In this case, perhaps angels. Cas took a moment to feel lucky that former angels evidently made the cut, because he doubted he could have enlisted the help of any of his siblings in this endeavor, angry as they rightfully still likely would be, since he was the reason they had all been cast out of Heaven.

He didn’t have time to brood about that at the moment, though, so he pushed thoughts of the Host out of his mind, at least until the spell was finished and he’d found a way to save Sam Winchester. Then he could worry about fixing Heaven, and making amends. 

Maybe the angels were right to distrust him. As far as Castiel was concerned, the Winchesters always came first. 

He surveyed the items he’d collected, now spread on the map table in the war room. Everything was ready. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then he began.

It wasn’t the first time he’d completed a spell. He went through the motions carefully, making sure to check and double check the text as he chanted, dropping each element into the bronze bowl he’d retrieved from one of the storage rooms. Finally, there was only one thing left to do. 

Castiel lifted the knife he’d borrowed from Dean’s room. In any other circumstance, it might have been funny, how careful Dean had been in the kitchen to keep Cas and his clumsy, new humanity away from sharp edges. And now there he was, slicing his own hand on purpose. As it was, Cas could only feel nervous. Part of him wished Dean was there with him. His familiar bravado, annoying as it could be, would have settled his nerves a little, he thought. But it was good that he was with Sam. Cas could do this on his own. He wouldn’t need Dean to look after him anymore, if all went to plan.

With a last deep breath, Castiel pressed the blade to his palm and cut, allowing the blood to drip over the other ingredients as he chanted the not-quite-words he read from the  _ Grimoire.  _

The drops of blood began to glow when they touched the contents of the bowl, emanating a cool blue light. A wind kicked up around him, fluttering the pages of the  _ Grimoire  _ where it sat on the table, tossing his hair around. As the air swirled around him, a small whirlwind centered on the bronze bowl, it seemed to carry the lights with it. The blue hue surrounded Castiel until he could see nothing else. The bunker was gone. He could feel the sharp coldness of the light brushing his skin. It ached where it wormed its way into his lungs.

Just as the light pressing around him became so uncomfortable that Castiel was about to cry out, everything stopped. The light collapsed into oppressive darkness. The wind died so quickly it made Castiel dizzy. He was very suddenly alone in a cold, dark emptiness.

_ The Empty,  _ his brain supplied helpfully. But it seemed to be more of a place than an entity.

The silence was so complete that for a moment, Cas feared he’d actually gone blind and deaf, maybe even mute. His heart pounded in his chest, and he called out, feeling very much like the characters Dean mocked in his horror films. “Hello?”

His voice disappeared into the darkness as if it had been swallowed by it.

And then there came a sound almost like a groan. It reached Castiel from every angle. He spun, trying to find the source of the noise, bit it only made him nauseous, as the darkness around him  _ shifted. _

His hands shot out instinctively, in search of something to hold on to, to keep his balance. But just as his hands felt nothing solid, there was nowhere to fall. So he remained there, feeling off-balance, until the shifting ended, and the darkness in front of him coalesced into a shape.

The groan came again, this time from the mouth of the eerie humanoid figure still forming itself together. “An  _ angel _ .” It hissed, tilting its head to the side and examining him with a featureless face. Its voice echoed all around them, a layered whisper that twisted uncomfortably in Castiel’s ears. There was a derisive sound, like it was spitting at him, and then it spoke again. “Oh.  _ Not quite _ .”

Cas had the distinct feeling of millions of eyes pressing into his skin, seeing right through him. He tried to ignore the discomfort as he searched for his voice. “Are you the Empty?” He asked, unsettled by the way his words were eaten by the darkness the moment they left his mouth. It made him feel claustrophobic. 

The creature’s arms lifted in a swooping motion that encompassed the darkness from which is was born. “ _ This  _ is the Empty. But you know that, or you couldn’t have come.” It said the words as if it wished he hadn’t been able to after all. Its lurching form closed in on him. “I was  _ sleeping.  _ But now you’re here. So  _ what. Do. You. Want? _ ” 

Castiel could  _ feel  _ the Empty’s hatred for him emanating from the darkness around them. He felt, for the first time, that this had maybe not been such a good idea, after all. He steeled himself. No going back now. “I’m here for my grace.” He said, doing his best to keep his voice even. “It was stolen from me, and I need it back. I believe it might be here, and I’m prepared to make a deal.”

There was a pause, and then the Empty sighed. “Oh, yes yes  _ yes _ . I can taste your little  _ spark. _ ” The voice sent a shiver up Castiel’s back. “All Heavenly power, but no little angel to wrap it in. Very...unstable _. _ It  _ itches. _ ” The shape shook its head slowly, lifting its hands to cover the places where its ears should be. “I suppose I  _ could  _ give it back…”

Castiel nodded, taking a chance. “That’s all I want. If you give me my grace, I’ll go. I won’t summon you again. You have my word.”

The Empty nodded, seeming distracted. “Resurrection isn’t easy.” It muttered, then turned back to Castiel. “It won’t be pretty. I’ll tie it to your life force, that should hold.” It hovered closer, placing a hand on Castiel’s chest. He fought the urge to recoil. “There will be...a  _ price. _ ”

Uneasiness swirled in Castiel’s gut. He didn’t know if he could trust this creature, had no idea what it’s true intentions were, other than getting rid of him. And besides, if his time with the Winchesters had taught him anything, it was that the price tag on a deal like this was never a simple thing to pay. But thinking about the Winchesters only made it harder to refuse. He closed his eyes and pictured Sam, lying in a hospital bed with Dean at his side. He pictured Dean, looking so worn and tense, trying so hard to take care of everyone else. He thought about his wings, how strong they’d once been. How beautiful. And how much he’d enjoyed spreading them and being carried away by their power. He took a deep breath.“I don’t care. Whatever your price is, I’ll pay it.”

The Empty made a low rumbling noise, almost like pleased laughter, and withdrew. “Very well.” It paused, extending its arms to the sides, and there was a shift in the darkness around them again that made Castiel feel even more nauseous than he already was. Castiel closed his eyes, but it didn’t help much with the dizzying feeling. And then a familiar, white-blue light shone through his eyelids, and he pulled them open just in time to see his grace rising up from the ground as if surfacing from a pool of dark water. The emptiness rolled off of it, and its presence eased something in Castiel’s chest. He felt safe, for the first time since he’d opened his eyes in this place.

The Empty cupped the light of his grace in its hands, letting it hover just above its palms, and then took a step towards him. “Goodbye, little  _ angel _ .” Its whispering voice was almost sing-song in its tone. And then it stepped towards him, extending the grace in its hands, and the whole world was swallowed in white fire.


	7. Chapter 7

When Castiel came to on the floor of the bunker, the first thing he noticed was the hum of the warding sigils built into its walls. He blinked, disoriented by the feeling. He couldn’t figure out, for a moment, why it was so unfamiliar. He’d been living in the bunker for a long time now. It was as much of a home as he’d probably ever have. Nothing about the place was this glaringly foreign.

And then it hit him that he could  _ sense  _ the wards. 

He stood quickly, thrown off simultaneously by the fact that his vision didn’t spin with the speed of the movement, and that he expected it to. He hadn’t been human all that long, compared to the amount of time he’d spent as an angel, but it had become his new normal so fast that the buzzing of grace under his borrowed skin, ready to leap to his will with a thought, felt almost more like an itch than a part of himself, returned at last.

He didn’t give himself time to dwell on that, though. He had somewhere to be.

Castiel was almost afraid to try spreading his wings. Sure, he could feel his grace warm and powerful inside his vessel, and the weight of his wings is there, but he was still unsure. All of this seemed too easy. Apart from a few drops of blood for the spell, Cas hadn’t really had to give up anything. Plans didn’t go that well for the Winchesters. There was no reason they would work for him any better.

It didn’t really matter, though, as long as it worked. If he could save Sam, everything would be worth it. After all, what could possibly be worse than letting the younger Winchester die, than watching Dean lose him, when there was even the possibility of something Cas could have done to save him?

Castiel took a steadying breath. Not that his vessel needed the oxygen anymore, but it had become a comforting habit, one he picked up from Sam, when he saw the younger Winchester attempting to prepare himself for something he knew was going to be particularly difficult. 

With that fond memory of Sam to bolster him, Cas spread his wings, closed his eyes, and with a thought he was at the hospital by his side.

It was a private room. The lights were dim, and Dean was sitting in an ugly, uncomfortable-looking chair at the side of the bed where Sam slept. He was hooked up to several machines, wires dangling from him like a tree overrun with vines, dragging it down, draining its life. Cas knew the tubes and wires were doing the opposite for Sam, or at least trying to, but it was still an unsettling sight. 

Dean jumped when Cas appeared, like he used to, back before the Apocalypse, before Purgatory, before everything, when flying had been as easy as breathing had become to Castiel. It made him smile. “Hello, Dean.” he greeted the hunter.

“Cas?” Dean gasped, lurching to his feet, eyes wide, stance tense, already bracing himself to protect Sam, to put his own body between his brother and whatever danger they might face. Castiel understood. It wasn’t often that the good kind of surprise found itself at the Winchesters’ bedside, and it was only fair of Dean to assume the worst. “How did you…?”

Castiel lifted his hands in a placating gesture, trying to demonstrate to Dean that he was safe. “I got my grace back.” he explained, mouth twisting up in the smallest hint of a smile. “I...I found a spell. In the lore you were studying.” Cas decided in the blink of an eye not to tell Dean about the Empty, about the deal, about all of it. He was tired of the hunter worrying about him, tired of being nothing but a burden in the Winchesters’ lives. He had his grace back now. He could do good things for them. He didn’t want Dean to worry about what he may have traded for that.

Dean wasn’t so easily won over, though. He narrowed his eyes, taking a step toward Cas. “How?” He asked, suspicious.

Castiel shook his head. “It isn’t important. I don’t know that I could even explain it to a human, anyway. My grace is...a part of me. It wanted to be with me. So getting it back was as simple as finding it, and knowing the right words to call it home.” It was close to the truth, anyway. The way his grace had reached for him in the Empty had been like breathing, like the return of a phantom limb. 

Castiel suspected that Dean would have had more questions, but at that moment, Sam stirred on the hospital bed behind him. He made a small, pained sound from beneath the oxygen mask that was resting over his sleeping face, and Cas watched as Dean’s whole body shifted, tuning to him. 

And then the hunter turned back to him, eyes lighting up. “Does this mean--?”

“Yes.” Cas responded, before the hunter even needed to finish asking the question. “I can heal him.” 

Cas had never seen the hunter’s eyes as hopeful, as bright, as vibrant, living green as they were in that moment. It made every bit of it worth it, and something painfully fond twinged in his chest. It was something he’d been afraid he would lose, getting his grace back. That feeling he had when Dean smiled at him. But it was still there, maybe even stronger than ever, because he was giving Dean this. His brother. The thing he cared about more than anything else in the world. Castiel was doing that for him.

Dean nodded. “Whatever you need, do it.”

Castiel stepped up to Sam’s bedside, trying to look as confident as he knew Dean needed him to be. He realized in that moment that he hadn’t actually tested his grace, aside from the flight to the hospital. He had no idea how this would go. He was out of practice, but healing was second nature to him, so he reached out a hand, pressed two gentle fingers to Sam’s forehead, closed his eyes, and urged his grace to reach out softly into Sam’s body, soothing the aches, repairing the damage that the Trials had done. It wasn’t an easy task. There were fissures all the way to the core of Sam’s being from the power of the magic. It was no wonder no one had succeeded in closing Hell before. It was an arduous task, and Cas honestly couldn’t believe it had taken Sam this long to be hospitalized again. The longer the magic remained in Sam’s body--for it was still there, because it hadn't been released by completing the final trial--the more it broke his cells down. 

Castiel searched out every place where the magic still existed within Sam Winchester and he urged it out with his grace, burning away the bits that wouldn’t go willingly. His eyes were closed, but he could sense the growing lightness of the room around them. “Cover your eyes.” He said to Dean, not able to expend enough concentration to make sure the hunter obeyed. He wasn’t sure exactly what the burning of the spell would do to a human body, but he did not want to find out. One injusted Winchester was enough to take care of in one day. 

Finally, after longer than Cas would have liked, he felt the spell’s hold on Sam’s body decrease, and then vanish altogether. And then Sam’s eyes opened.

He gasped a little against the uncomfortable feeling of the breathing mask on his face. Cas stood back. “You can take it off of him.” He informed Dean. “He doesn’t need it anymore.”

Dean was watching him with awe. It should have felt nice, but there was a bit of sadness in Castiel’s chest at the look. This was the Cas Dean had wanted back, the one he had missed so much, even in the weeks when Cas had enjoyed living in the bunker with the Winchesters, learning to be human, learning to cook and drive, watching movies late at night when Sam had fallen asleep and it was just him and Dean on the bunker’s couch, and he thought maybe this was what it was like to belong somewhere. But maybe he hadn’t actually belonged at all. He had just been a placeholder for the angel that the Winchesters wanted, the one that they needed, to help them. He didn’t want to resent that. It was only fair that he did what he could to aid his friends, even if his abilities became all they saw him for. He could do that. He had hurt them enough already. 

“Sammy!” Dean gasped as he removed the mask from Sam’s face, reaching out to cradle his younger brother’s cheek with a gentle hand. “Are you...how are you feeling?”  
Sam looked disoriented, which was fair. The last thing he would likely have remembered was being in the bunker’s kitchen, eating with Dean and Cas, and coughing up blood, and now he was in an unfamiliar hospital room, healed of the Trails’ damage. Castiel suspected this was better than the younger Winchester had felt since before he started the first Trial.   
“I’m...I’m great.” He said, almost like a question. His eyes darted over to Cas, and somehow he must have seen the difference in the way the angel held himself, despite the fact that his grace wasn’t physically manifested at all, ebcaweu his brows raised and his mouth opened in a small ‘o.’ “Cas,” he gasped, “are you--?”

“An angel again? Yes.” Castiel answered.

Sam frowned. “How?”

Dean shook his head, leaning forward to embrace his younger brother where he lay on the hospital bed. “Does it matter? He healed you.” Dean said, voice muffled where he pressed his face into his younger brother’s neck.

Cas looked away, trying to give the brothers a moment of privacy, but Sam drew his attention again. “Thank you, Cas. You didn’t...I...thank you.”

Castiel nodded. “Of course. You’re my...I care about you. Both of you. I couldn’t let you die and I couldn’t let Dean lose you. And...I’m me again.” He offered a smile, even though his grace was resting with an odd sourness inside his vessel. He should feel like he was back to normal, but everything about this felt odd, like he was watching the Winchesters suddenly from behind a glass pane, and he couldn’t quite be a part of their togetherness in the ways he had become accustomed to being. He tried to ignore the feeling. 

He felt a small wave of exhaustion that had him leaning against the hospital bed for support for a few moments. Maybe something was wrong. Maybe this was the price that the Empty had warned him about. He shook his head and did his best to conceal it from the Winchesters as they embrace, watching them and echoing Dean’s sentiment:  _ It doesn't matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. _


	8. Chapter 8

They executed what Dean referred to as a “hospital hit and run.” It would have been impossible to explain how Sam had become well to someone who was unaware of the existence of angels, and none of them really felt like dealing with the press attention that the story of a miraculous healing would have drawn. So Castiel, after recovering from the odd moment of weakness--probably just a symptom of getting his grace back, he was out of practice, it was unfamiliar, his body was used to being human--he placed a hand on each Winchester’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and flew them back to the bunker. 

It was dizzying. It had been a long time since Cas had flown at all, much less with two passengers. He reassured himself that that was the only reason his vision blackened at the edges for a moment as they landed. He felt out of breath, despite the fact that he didn’t need the air at all. He hid it well from the Winchesters, which wasn’t hard because Dean only had eyes for Sam, now that he had been healed, and Sam was disoriented anyway. 

Castiel didn’t want to worry them. Didn’t need to worry them. It was nothing serious. He would be fine after a few days, once he got used to being an angel again. He reassured himself that that was true, that the Empty wouldn't have quoted him a price that would send him right back to irritate its sleep before long. There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to worry the Winchesters about. It was time to be happy, because Sam was safe. He was whole, he was home.

Dean’s smile was contagious enough to push Castiel’s worries away. It was good to see the older Winchester happy like this, and even better to know that he was at least part of the cause, even if he wasn’t the one it was directed at. After catching his breath from the flight, getting used to the bunker around them again, Dean offered to go to the kitchen and make them something to eat, stuttering a moment over his promise to cut up an apple for Cas; his favorite.

“Or...um. I guess...you don’t have to eat anymore.” Dean said, finally tearing his eyes away from Sam to look at the angel.

Castiel nodded. “That’s correct.” There was a moment of heavy silence in the bunker, as if everyone wasn’t thrilled that Cas was an angel again, that he could protect them, fly them places, do all of the things that they had been lacking because o f his fall. “It’s alright, though.” He insisted, after holding Dean’s eyes for a moment, unable to stand the odd somberness he saw there. He wanted the hunter to get back to smiling, like he had been. He didn’t want to drag his mood down. “I actually, um...I have...I’d like to go. Flying.” He said. And as he said it, he knew it was true. There were places he’d like to visit, now that he could again. More than anything, though, he wanted to feel his wings spread out under him. Healing Sam had been exhilarating and the greatest part of his life, being able to do that for the Winchesters, it was his purpose. But it had been too long since he’d flown, and he was a creature of the sky. He wanted to be in the air again, wanted to look down at the mall earth, wanted to close his eyes and reopen them again in another place., across the world, just because he could. “You should eat. I’ll be back.” He added, at the worried expression Dean gave, “To check on Sam.” 

Dean nodded. “Oh, yeah. Right.” He said, not looking at Sam or Cas.

The angel glanced at the younger Winchester to try to see how he had messed up, but Sam wasn’t looking at him either. 

“That’s good, you should… Right. Because you’re not stuck here anymore.” Dean mumbled. 

Castiel nodded. “It would be good to stretch my wings.” He said, trying to smile and get Dean to do the same.

Dean nodded, too, and he did stretch his lips into a type of small smile, but it wasn’t the same genuine joy that Castiel had been seeing. He knew the hunter well enough to know that this smile was fake. But he didn’t understand why. 

“Um...see ya when I see ya.” He said, and then he turned to head to the bunker’s kitchen. 

It shouldn’t have hurt, Dean being so willing to let him go when that was what Castiel had said he wanted. But it did, a little, to see his back retreating so easily. After having been the subject of such careful scrutiny, such concern and worry for so long, the cold aloofness was painful. He could take care of himself now, he knew. It would be ridiculous for the older Winchester to try to hover like a mother hen now that Castiel was far more powerful than either Sam or Dean. But it still felt odd and unusual and it made Cas a little bit sad. He glanced at Sam, who was now looking at him with a sad expression as well. 

“I’m glad you’re better, Sam.” He said.

Sam nodded, and smiled a little bit, more genuine than Dean’s but still oddly melancholy. “Me too, Cas. Thank you again. And…You know that you don’t have to leave now, right?” Sam asked.

Castiel's’ brows furrowed in confusion. “Of course. I just...I need some air.”

Sam nodded again. “Right. I mean...I’m glad that you can fly again, I just...There will always be a place for you here, Cas.”

Castiel nodded. He knew that, of course. The Winchesters repaid their debts, and those who were loyal to their family were often highly rewarded with loyalty in return. Besides, it would be tactically unwise to get rid of him now. “I know, Sam.” He said, and then he disappeared.

*******

When he’d said he wanted to leave, he hadn’t actually had a particular destination in mind. Just a trip around, enjoying the feeling of flying again. Enjoying the freedom and invulnerability that he had longed for as a human who got sick, who burned his hands on hot pans and stubbed his toe on misplaced chairs. He found himself in a greenhouse in Alabama. The plants were lovely, and it was good to be around growing things. It was warm, although temperature didn’t bother his vessel anymore. But as a human, he had enjoyed the warmth. Being cold was so unpleasant. It crept through his skin, down into his bones and held there, difficult to get rid of. Until Dean grumbled and piled him in his own extra flannels and a blanket from his bed, insisting that if he didn’t stay warm he’d get a cold, andhe really didn’t want to be around when a centuries old angel got the flu for the first time. 

So Castiel found someplace warm, with growing things that made him feel right. Like he belonged. The plants were in full blood and their colors were pleasant; the pinks of petals. The rich dark brown of the soul, the vibrant green of the stems and leaves, which reminded him of Dean’s smiling eyes; the way they lit up when he healed Sam, or a hundred other times when Cas had been human, when he’d called the bunker home, and he’d done something Dean dubbed ridiculous, sending the hunter into rare peals of laughter. 

Healing Sam had felt right, and Castiel wasn’t done with that feeling, because something about the bunker and Dean had felt wrong when they got home. So he went searching for that feeling again. Some of the plants were struggling to bloom, wilting under the pressure of being alive. He could sense their struggle from across the greenhouse. He sought each one of them out, sending his grace down to their roots in tendrils of blue light. Castiel thought it felt different, to heal things now. It felt like a far greater task; vast and hard and exhausting. But he wasn’t sure if it really was different somehow, or if that was just a product of spending time away from his grace, like the way humans described returning to a place from their childhood; how things looked so much smaller than in their memories. 

It didn’t exhaust him, though, like healing Sam and flying the Winchesters had. It was like training wheels, he supposed. Dean had told him about teaching Sam to ride a bike, and how the smaller wheels helped him balance when he was still learning how to hold on and pedal and steer. Any skill newly learned was bound to knock a person, or rather, angel, off balance at first. He just needed time. And practice, on small things like wilting plants and short flights by himself. It would be alright. He put thoughts of the Empty and its price out of his mind as he made his way up and down the aisles of the greenhouse, sharing his grace with every plant that needed it as he went. 


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to be away from the Winchesters and the bunker for very long. Even with the odd way his stomach twisted when he thought about Dean, and what it would be like to return to the place so strongly associated with his time as a human, he felt its pull with increasing strength the longer he spent away. He wanted to see the Winchesters. He should check on Sam, he reasoned, even though he was certain he’d healed everything the Trials had done to him, and that Dean would pray to him if anything happened. 

Even as Castiel thought that, he began to feel something from the hunter. It was faint at first. Not words, like a traditional prayer. But it wasn’t the words that drew him, anyway. It was the desire. The longing. The feeling of needing him that came with praying. The longer he spent away from the bunker, the stronger the pull became, because he could feel Dean’s longing growing and growing, although he didn’t understand it.

Stranger still, was the way the feeling echoed inside him, a mirror to his own feelings. He wanted to go home. There was a time when that had been Heaven, but even if the angels would have him, Cas wouldn’t have felt right going there. Home had become the bunker. It had become Sam sitting nearby on his laptop and Dean fussing every few hours about how he needed to eat something. And he missed that, more than he’d even missed his wings.

So finally, he took one last look at the plants around him, and then flew home.

Unsettlingly, that same feeling of dizzy exhaustion hit him. He’d hoped that after the practice of flying away from the bunker, and all the work he’d done one the plants, his grace would be used to following his commands again, and whatever this strange adjustment period had been would fade away. But there was a part of Cas that felt like maybe it was worse this time, although he couldn’t be sure.

He shook off the worry. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, anyway. If something was wrong, they’d figure it out later. But right then, he wanted to find the Winchesters.

He ran into Dean first. The hunter was in the kitchen, washing dishes. Cas noted that the pizza they had been eating when Sam collapsed was gone. The kitchen was nearly spotless. Cas had learned this was something that happened when Dean was worried. He ran off to the kitchen to busy himself cooking and cleaning. But he had no reason to be worried right now, unless something had happened while the angel was gone. That would explain the longing feeling. Maybe it had been an actual prayer, and whatever was messing with his grace had just muted it. He should have returned as soon as he felt the call.

“Is everything alright?” Cas asked, by way of announcing his presence.

“Shit!” Dean jumped, whirling around and sending water flying. He dropped the plate he’d been holding on the ground and it shattered. “Cas.” He gasped, relaxing minutely. “Jesus, man, it’s gonna take some getting used to, you popping up places like this again. I kinda forgot how often you scared the shit out of me, in the good old days.”

Cas shook his head, too concerned about Sam to feel fond at Dean’s overreaction. “Is your brother alright?” He asked again.

This time Dean seemed to read the seriousness in his expression. “Yeah, he’s fine, he just went to take a shower and read or something nerdy like that like, ten minutes ago. Why? Did something happen?” 

Castiel relaxed, exhaling. “No, I just...I was gone for longer than I meant to be, and I was...concerned. I thought I might be needed.”

Dean shook his head. “We’re okay, Cas.”

It was stupid that it hurt. Cas was glad they were both alright. Not needing him was a good thing, it meant they were healthy and safe. But it also left him feeling a little bit hollow. He should have known. The ache of longing he’d been picking up from Dean had faded almost immediately, as if it hadn’t been there at all. 

Dean must have picked up on the way his expression fell. “I’m glad you’re here, though.” He added, starting to take a step forward and cursing when his foot landed on a shard of plate, crushing it. “Damn it.” He muttered, starting to bend to pick it up.

“Let me.” Cas said, stepping forward and waving a hand. The pieces gathered themselves together into a whole plate, without even a crack remaining to hint at the fact that it had been broken in the first place. Castiel scooped it up. When he stood, he suddenly realized how close he was to Dean. As he straightened, the plate held in his hands between them, Cas suddenly felt the longing start up again, stronger because of Dean’s proximity. It rooted him in place. Dean wanted him. Right where he was. That alone would have kept Cas there for an eternity, as long as he could meet Dean’s warm green eyes with his, and see the freckles scattered across his nose, and feel the pleasant whisper of need in his grace.

Dean cleared his throat, looking down, and the moment was broken, the pull of longing dampened slightly.   
“Thanks. For the plate.” Dean said, voice rough. 

Cas nodded, allowing Dean to take it from him and place it in the dish rack with the others. The added space between them stole Cas’ breath, despite the fact that he didn’t need it in the first place. It must have been another odd symptom of the newness of his grace. He started to leave, unsure of what was expected of him now, and assuming that the hunter would want to just silently move past whatever moment they had just shared. But Dean’s voice stopped him.

“Cas?” He asked. 

The angel turned to face him. “Yes, Dean?”

“Where did you go?” He wasn’t looking at Cas, instead keeping his gaze trained on the floor, where the plate had shattered. “When you left before.”

Cas frowned, not really sure why Dean was asking. He’d seemed ready enough for him to leave. Still, despite the slightly bitter thought, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore Dean’s question. “I just flew around at first. But I ended up in a greenhouse.” He told him. “I love the bunker, but it can feel like a crypt. I missed the sky, and growing things. I sat with the plants for a long time, until I felt...until I decided to come check on Sam. And you.” He added.

Dean nodded, still not looking at him. “I’m fine, Cas.”

The angel shook his head. “You keep saying that. But I’m me again. You don’t have to pretend. I know you were already tired, and you haven’t slept since before Sam was hospitalized. You need rest.” He insisted. Dean looked like he was about to protest, but Cas spoke again, not really sure why he chose the words that he did. “I’ll finish the dishes if you promise to lie down for a while.” He said.

Dean finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna just wave your hands and Jedi them clean?” He asked. It made Cas smile.

“I do remember how to wash them.” He informed the hunter. “I payed attention to what you taught me, while I was human.”

Dean held his gaze, looking like he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t. Instead, he cleared his throat, and nodded. “Okay, fine, I’ll take a nap or whatever. Happy?”

“Yes.” Cas smirked as Dean shoved a dish towel at him playfully on his way out of the kitchen. “I am.”


	10. Chapter 10

Evidently, Castiel was not the only one who had started to feel restless in the time the three of them had spent cooped up in the bunker, waiting for Sam to heal and Cas to adjust to being human. Cas recalled the conversation he’d had with the younger Winchester the afternoon before he’d returned to the hospital, how he felt useless, like there was no point in having stayed alive to fight another day if he couldn’t actually fight.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him that shortly after Sam returned from the hospital, the two of them had found a case they wanted to take, and were packing up their bags to check it out.

Cas wasn’t invited. Or maybe, they didn’t think he’d want to be invited. It was true that he hadn’t exactly gone on hunts with them before. He was usually busy with his duties as an angel, and anyway, he didn’t understand the ins and outs of hunting well enough to successfully portray an FBI agent or convince witnesses to talk to him. It made sense to leave him at the bunker, even if he would be useful in fighting the monster and healing them if it were to get any of its own blows in.

“It’s a simple salt and burn, Cas.” Dean insisted, when the angel expressed his worries. “I could do it in my sleep. And it’ll be good for Sammy. Hell, it’ll be good for me, too.” 

Cas sighed. “I know.” He relented. It wasn’t as if he could have talked Dean out of it, anyway. He knew that much. He just wished the hunter would let him protect him. But he probably needed his space. He wanted to spend time with the little brother he thought was dying not long before. It made sense. Sam was his family. They deserved some time together. 

“Besides, you probably have...angel stuff to do, or whatever, right?” Dean asked. Cas noted that he sounded a little bit bitter, and the longing feeling from before was there, spiking just a little in Cas’ grace. It didn’t make any sense, though, when Dean was leaving and expecting Castiel to do the same. So he pushed the feeling away.

“Yes.” He agreed, although he couldn’t actually think of a single thing he needed to do, a single place he’d rather be than by the Winchesters’ side, wherever that took him. “I’ll keep myself busy until you return.”

Dean looked at him for a long moment, something confusing and unreadable in his green eyes. Then he cleared his throat, and he nodded, patting Cas on the shoulder quickly. “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do.” He murmured, mouth twisting into a smirk as he winked, and then turned to go.

*******

Cas didn’t leave the bunker. He didn’t know where else he would go. Maybe he should have found his way to Heaven, tried to use his newly restored grace to repair the damage Metatron’s spell had done there. But it felt like too much. Besides, he had no idea if the angels would even accept his help in the first place. Better to wait a while long, until the wounds weren’t so fresh. That would give him more time to get used to his newly restored grace, so he would be able to use it to help.

Instead, he wandered the empty halls, taking in the Winchesters’ home with a different perspective than he ever had before, either as an angel or the human he had become. He stretched his grace out to prod at the wards, testing them, searching for weaknesses. When he found a fault in any of them, he concentrated, urging his grace to repair it. The Winchesters deserved a home that was safe. That was something Castiel could help give to them. 

The work was tedious, but it was a good way to pass the time. He had to take a few short breaks, allowing his grace to adjust to his use of it. Every time a wave of dizziness made him pause, the worry gnawing at his stomach grew a little bit stronger. He ignored it.

Even with the distraction of his struggling grace, and the wards to be fixed up, the time dragged by. Cas wanted to call Dean and ask how the hunt was going, but he decided against it. Instead, he made his way down to the laundry room and sorted through the Winchesters’ dirty clothes. 

He stopped when he found a familiar, dark red sweatshirt in the hamper with the other dirty clothes. It was his. Well, technically it was Dean’s, but it was one that the older Winchester gave Castiel shortly after he fell. It was his favorite; a little too big, and worn soft by many washes. Cas held it for a long moment, struggling to bring himself to be able to dump it into the washing machine with the other clothes. It was still dirty from the last time he wore it as a human. Washing it felt like abandoning that part of himself. And as happy as he truly was to have his grace back, to be his old self, the Castiel who could protect people, who could heal them, there were things about his time as a human that he missed. 

He hadn’t changed back into his old “holy tax accountant” outfit, mostly because it was too damaged during his trip to the bunker. Now, he was not sure he wanted to. He looked down at himself. He was still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt he’d been in the other night, when Sam had taken a turn for the worse, and they’d had to rush him to the hospital. 

He sighed, shrugging the dirty sweatshirt on, even though he didn’t need the protection from the cold anymore. It felt good, the familiar weight of it on his shoulders. How his wings should feel. Will feel, as soon as he gets used to them. He was sure of it.

***

True to his word, Dean was back, with Sam in tow, late the next day. It really had been a simple salt and burn, for once, and Cas was relieved to have the Winchesters back within reach. He insisted on healing both of them, even though Dean tried to shrug him off when he reached to repair the shallow scratches on his face.

“I’m fine, Cas, stop hovering.” Dean grumbled, but Cas ignored his protests.

“Dean, this is  _ why _ I wanted my grace back.” He told him, grabbing the older Winchester’s wrist and pulling him close enough to examine the cuts. He carefully ran the fingers of his free hand across Dean’s forehead, sending a gentle pulse of grace into the skin to knit it back together. Cas watched it work, trying to ignore the wave of dizziness that hit him, even with the light healing, after tending to Sam’s twisted ankle already. 

Or maybe it was not his grace that was making him feel lightheaded at all, because Dean was  _ so close,  _ close enough that Cas could pick out every freckle scattered across his nose, every fleck of gold in his green eyes. When the angel’s gaze fell there, he found Dean staring at him, too, and his expression mirrored the untethered feeling that was making it difficult for Cas to breathe, despite the fact that he no longer needed to.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He realizes, distantly, that his hand was still cradling Dean’s face, but he couldn’t bring himself to drop it. He felt like the two of them were under a spell and if he moved he’d shatter something between them forever.

In the end, it was Dean who broke it. He cleared his throat, dropping his eyes and stepping back. Cas reluctantly let his hand fall between them.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean said, clearing his throat. “I, uh...I actually got you something. Sam made fun of me, but I wanted to...I dunno. Say thank you.”

Cas frowned. “You don’t have to thank me for healing your brother. He’s one of my best friends. I would do anything to keep him safe, just as you would.” 

Something flickered across Dean’s face, but he wasn’t meeting Castiel’s eyes, so he couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

“The same is true for you, Dean.” Cas added, feeling a little awkward. 

Dean nodded. “No, I know, it’s just...c’mere.” 

The hunter turned without another word and practically fled the room, leaving Cas no choice but to follow him. They were headed to the garage, Cas realized after a moment. Dean led him all the way to where the impala was parked in her usual spot, and he pulled open the back door before reaching inside and presenting Cas with a small plant, potted neatly in an orange clay pot and sprouting lovely green leaves.

“This is for me?” Cas asked, hesitantly reaching for the plant.

Dean nodded, smiling shyly. “It’s probably stupid. I mean, you can fly again, so you can see plants whenever. Way cooler ones than anything I could pick up. But...you said you went to a greenhouse the other day, and I know this place can get a little stuffy, and I just thought...I thought you might like it. To make your room. Um. Homier.”

Cas stared at Dean for a long moment, and then he looked down at the plant. Up close, he could see the edges of some of the leaves were browning. “It’s dying.” He murmured.

Dean’s face fell. “Like I said, they didn’t have a great selection. It’s dumb, I’m sorry--”

“No,” Cas shook his head, hugging the plant closer to himself when Dean reached out to take it. “That’s not what I meant. I...it needs to be taken care of. It’s perfect. I like being able to fix things. It’s good, to do something right for once. Thank you, Dean.”

“You do a lot of right things, Cas.”

The angel shook his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you and I both know that’s not true.”

Dean stepped closer. He was quiet for a moment, but then he looked up at Cas. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” Cas asked, brows furrowing. 

Dean shook his head. “The, uh…” He fumbled for a moment, and Castiel waited, staring at him in confusion. “The thing about your grace. Why you wanted it back.”

“Oh.” Cas suddenly felt uncomfortable, so he looked away from Dean, back at the plant in his hands. It didn’t help the feeling.

“It’s just…” Dean continued, rambling now, “your grace is like a part of you, right? I mean, it’s like your soul, or whatever. And your wings. I mean, I hate flying, but I thought you must miss it. I thought you’d want it to...you know, feel like yourself again. To be happy. But you know you don’t...that’s not why I wanted you to get it back, right?”

There was a long, heavy pause. The angel couldn’t return Dean’s gaze. Something was twisting inside his stomach. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides. 

“I need to go.” The words were out before Cas had even an inkling that he was going to say them.

“What?” Dean’s expression fell, but Cas ignored it, walking past him, out the door. 

“There’s something I have to do.” He called over his shoulder as he went, not even bothering to check to see if Dean heard him. It wasn’t until he was several yards down the hallway that he remembered he could have flown away from where he stood.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel nearly ran into the younger Winchester in the library. “Sam,” He gasped, still flustered and frustrated because he didn’t even understand  _ why  _  he was _.  _ He suddenly had an idea. “Are you feeling up to helping me with something?”

Sam nodded. “I think you and I both know that I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. And that’s thanks to you, so I can help you with whatever you need.”

“I’d like to find someone.” Castiel explained.

A few minutes later, they were both seated in the younger Winchester’s bedroom in front of Sam’s laptop. Castiel hadn’t understood exactly how Sam had managed to find his way into the hospital's records, but he doubted it was legal. Not that he cared. He was doing this to help someone, after all. Laws shouldn’t get in the way of that.

“You don't know the daughter's name?” Sam asked, frowning at his computer screen as he scrolled through some information.

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t. But her mothers are Brooke and Rachel.” 

Sam nodded. “It would be easier if we had a last name, but I think I can find them.” He typed a few things and scrolled some more. Castiel watched impatiently. It wasn’t as if it would take him long to get there, once he found out where there was. But he was craving the use of his grace, craving that right feeling he had gotten after healing sam, and repairing the damaged plants. He wanted to do something good again, to be reassured he had made the right decision in his deal with the Empty. Of course, he couldn’t explain that to Sam. So he did his best to sit still; not fidget and not show his impatience. 

Finally, Sam sat back with a triumphant sound. “Brooke and Rachel Shaw.” He said. “Their daughter, Lizzy Shaw has been coming for cancer treatments and she had a surgery recently. Do you think this is them?” 

Castiel nodded. “It has to be, right?”

Sam nodded, too. “I’ll get you their address.” He started scribbling something on a piece of paper. He paused, eyeing Castiel like he wanted to say something but he wasn’t quite sure how. “What are you planning, Cas?” He asked. “I mean, you can’t just go in and say ‘Oh, I’m an angel’ and heal their daughter, right?”

Castiel frowned. “Why not?” He asked.

Sam stared at him for a moment and then stammered as if he wasn’t sure how to explain his reasoning. “I just...I, I mean...that’s not what we do. Or, what you do. You never, before…”

Castiel looked down. “No, I didn’t. But I guess...losing my grace and getting it back has reminded me of all the things I wanted to use it for in the first place. Healing humans, my Father’s creations, the ones we angels were meant to love and protect instead of harm, it’s my purpose. And when I healed you, I felt...like I was doing something right. For once. And I just...I need to feel that way again, Sam.”

The hunter nodded. “I get it, Cas. I mean, that’s what got me in this mess in the first place. I needed a win. I felt like I needed to fix all the bad in the world because that’s the only thing that would make up for all of my mistakes. But...” he paused, and then took a deep, and started again, “trying to do it all by myself got me into more trouble, and you can’t help everyone on your own, Cas. It’s okay to need us. Or to want us. If... you still do.”

Cas frowned. “Of course I do, Sam. I’ll always want to spend time with you and your brother.”

Sam nodded, shoulders lifting a little in relief. “Good. That’s good. Now...go do your good thing, Cas. Just remember, people kind of tend to freak out when they see stuff like this.”

Cas smiled softly. “I’ll be...accommodating.” He responded, and then he was gone.

*******

Brooke and Rachel had a nice house, although small. The flight was short, but it still left his head spinning when he landed. Just an adjustment period. Everything would be fine. 

It was getting harder and harder to believe that, the longer it went on. 

He walked up the steps and paused, realizing belatedly that he could have just appeared inside the house. But he’d chosen the human thing; to arrive outside, knoc, and he allowed in. Maybe because his own recent experiences with humanity coloring his own experiences, maybe because of Sam’s advice. He wasn’t sure how Brooke and Rachel would react to a man they barely knew appearing in their living room, and he wanted to be allowed close enough to their daughter to help her without having to force his way in.

So he walked up the steps and rapped on the pleasant blye door of their house. 

Brooke appeared in front of him when the door opened. SHe smiled, a little wary, with a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Cas?” She asked, as if she wasn’t sure she was remembering his name correctly. “I...how did you find me?”

Castiel smiled at her, brushing off the question. “From the hospital. I...can I come in?”

Brooke narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?” She asked.

“I would like to meet your daughter.” He said. “My, um...my friend who was in the hospital, he’s better now. And I’d like for your daughter to be better too.” 

Brooke sighed. “I would too, Cas. But I don’t see how you’re going to help.”

“Do you have faith, Brooke?” Cas asked. She stared at him. “Faith that things are going to get better, that maybe there are people out there who want to help? Who can help?” 

Brooke frowned. “I...I would like to.” She finally answered. 

Castiel nodded. “I would like to, too. And...I’d like to help you.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Cas wasn’t sure what exactly made up her mind, but finally she stepped back with a sweeping motion and allowed him to pass. “Lizzy?” She called, as she led the way toward the living room. “I have a friend who’d like to meet you.” 

Lizzy was younger than the Winchesters, but not a child. Probably in her twenties, although human age was still to unfamiliar to him for Cas to be sure. She was sitting on the couch in pajamas, with an oxygen mask resting on the floor beside her, attached to a set of tubing that was hooked over her ears and feeding oxygen into her nose. Her head was covered by a flowery pink scarf to make up for the lack of hair there. She looked tired.

“Hi.” She greeted him, eyes flicking to her mother with a question.

“Hello, Lizzie.” Castiel said. “My name is Cas. I met your mothers in the waiting room at the hospital. My friend was sick, too, but he’s better now.”

Lizzie smiled a softly, although it looked a little bit sad. “That’s good.” She said. “Someone oughta be.” 

Castiel nodded, and then took a step further into the living room, stopping by the couch to sit next to her. “I think you should be better, too. I’d like to help. If that’s okay.”

Lizzie looked like he wasn’t quite sure what he was asking. She glanced at her mother, but Cas couldn’t see Brooke’s reaction. Finally, Lizzie’s eyes found their way to Castiel again, and she took a deep breath. “I want to get better,” she said, “but...are you a doctor?”

“No. But I’m someone who wants to help.” He reached out and took her thin hand in his, covering it with his other palm. He closed his eyes and urged his grace to reach out. There was a little bit of resistance, but Cas pushed against it, unwilling to let whatever seemed to be wrong with his grace stop Lizzie from getting better. There was an incision in her chest, he could feel it. He healed that first. Lizzie gasped at the feeling. He could hear Brooke gasp, too, at the light emanating from Castiel’s palms, shining in rivers of blue light like veins down his arms, around his eyes, finding its way under her daughter's skin to soothe what was ailing her.

He closed the surgical incision and then moved on to the sickness he could feel in her cells, the cancer that was till there despite the chemotherapy, despite the surgeons’ attempt to cut it out. His grace rooted through her with a gentle cool warmth and found every piece of it, just as he had searched for every piece of the Trials magic in Sam’s body and removed it. It was harder than healing the hunter, harder than stitching up the incision. This sickness was deep, and his grace hurt where it burned in his veins, making his whole vessel feel heavy and worn.

When he was finally done, the light faded from his palms and he released Lizzie’s hand, relieved. But she clasped his, eyes wide and teary on his face. “You...how?” She reached down with her free hand to lift her pajama shirt and removed the bandage that were wrapped around her chest, where the incision had been.

Brooke gasped again, rushing over to her sie. “Cas, what did you…?”

“I healed her.” He explained, breathless and thin. The feeling was back, the sense of having done something good, right, something that he was meant to do. But this time it brought with it an unshakeable ache, from the overextension of his grace. This wasn’t normal, a voice in his head insisted. He shoved it away and basked in the good. “The cancer is gone now. She’s going to be alright.”

Brooke started to cry, and she threw herself at Castiel, wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you. You’re...you’re an angel, Cas.”

For some reason, despite being true, the words sent a sharp stabbing pain through his chest, made him unbelievably sad. He closed his eyes, suddenly fighting off tears for no conceivable reason.

He pulled away from Brooke, who turned her tearful hugging to her daughter. Castiel extricated his hand from Lizzie’s hold with a final reassuring squeeze, stood shakily, and left them embracing on the couch as he let himself out of their house and walked down the street. He had to pause outside, and take a moment to collect himself before he felt strong enough to spread his wings and carry himself back to the bunker.

As he stood there just trying to breathe, he heard the Empty’s voice in his head. “There will be a price. I’ll have to tie it to your life force.” 

He squeezed his eyes closed. He didn’t want to admit it, but maybe he really did need help. He needed to talk to Sam and Dean, to find a way to be able to stay with them. He hated needing their help, but he did. He would humiliate himself by asking if it was the only way to continue protecting them.

He took another moment to steady himself, and then he forced his grace to carry him home.


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel found the Winchesters in the kitchen. He paused in the hallway, still around the corner, out of sight, to steady himself and try to blink away the dark spots in his vision. Something was definitely wrong, and it made cold dread curl in the pit of his stomach, taking the shape of the Empty’s words. _There will be a price._

Before he could muster the courage to take the final steps forward, Dean’s voice found him from where Cas could picture him, leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to Sam.

“It’s a relief.”

The hunter sounded almost bitter, and Cas frowned, trying to think what Dean could be talking about.

Sam’s voice offered a clue. “I dunno, Dean, I’m still worried about him. Aren’t you?”

Dean huffed. “Sam, he’s an angel again. He’s got his wings, his halo, the whole nine yards. He’s poofing in and out of here like the freaking Flash. He’s fine.”

Oh. They were talking about him. Of course. Of course it would be a relief to Dean that Cas had his grace back, that he could fly and heal and do all of his useful tricks. He didn’t know why it hurt.

Except that he was starting to understand, and that only made it hurt worse.

“Still,” Sam continued, piercing through the ache in Castiel’s chest, “don’t you miss it? I mean, I was pretty sick for a lot of his time as a human, but the movie nights, the driving lessons, the family dinners...you seemed really happy, Dean. And he did too.”

“He’s better off this way.” Dean snapped suddenly, and his tone broke something in Cas. “He can get away from here, from me, when…”

Cas wasn’t listening anymore. He couldn’t. Stretched thin as his grace was, it was instinct for his tired wings to carry him away from the words that felt like knives in his chest. If Dean wanted him gone so badly, he’d go.

Except that where he really wanted to go was _home,_ and there was only one place that felt like home to him anymore.

He opened his eyes in his bedroom, still in the bunker, but thankfully far enough away from the kitchen to be unable to hear Dean’s words. The silence didn’t lessen the effect they’d already had on him, though. Cas realized, numbly, that he was shaking, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the overuse of his tainted grace or the nauseating ache that made his eyes burn, ridiculously, with tears. Maybe it was both.

Cas loved Dean. In a different way than he loved Sam. A sharper, brighter, much more painful way. And he was only just realizing that he’d let himself believe, when he was human, that maybe Dean might feel even a little bit of that same love for him. That they could “play house” like that forever. That they could be happy. How could he have been so stupid? Dean would never be able to return his feelings. Not just because he’d be repulsed by the male vessel Cas had almost come to think of as _his body,_ after the time he’d spent in it as a human. No, Dean would never love him because Cas had only ever been a tool to the older Winchester. A nice, useful hammer, just as he’d said years ago, when they barely knew each other. There when you need it. Tucked neatly away in a drawer when you don’t.

Castiel had never understood the idea of a broken heart. Humans were dramatic with their metaphors. But a heart couldn’t break, not while a person was alive, because its only true function was to pump their blood, not all the other emotional labor humans had tacked onto its agenda. But at that moment, he understood. Because it felt like his insides were shattered into sharp edges, and they were digging into each other. It _hurt._

Cas lashed out, striking at the first thing he could reach, hurling orange and green and brown to the floor to shatter along with him.

It wasn’t until a few moments later, chest heaving from the yell he hadn’t meant to release, staring down at the broken pieces of clay on his bedroom floor, that Cas realized what he’d done.

The plant Dean had given him was splayed on the ground, dirt scattered all around it, its fragile branches bent and bruised by the impact. The clay pot it had rested in was broken all around it, some of the heavy orange pieces squashing its delicate leaves.

Cas dropped to his knees, the anger emptying from him like the dirt from the broken pot. It wasn’t the plant’s fault Cas had been an idiot. And even angry at him, the angel couldn’t help but treasure a gift that came from Dean. He’d brought it home from his hunt because he’d thought of Cas when he saw it. That was something, at least. It could probably be good enough.

Not that it really mattered. He could feel it, as he tugged on his grace, demanding that it pull together enough strength to fit the shattered pieces into something whole again. Every part of him protested the exertion. But he ignored it, forcing himself to his feet with the repaired pot in hand, setting it on his desk so he could bend again and collect the wilted plant.

His vision darkened when he straightened, but he ignored it. What did it matter? Dean didn’t want him without his grace, and Cas didn’t want a life without the Winchesters in it. It was probably better this way, since he couldn’t stay and help them.

But he could fix Dean’s gift, and that felt extremely important, for some reason. Important enough to die for.

No, not “for some reason.” Because he loved him. Castiel saw that now.

He could feel his failing grace twisting in sparks of white-blue lighting from his eyes, down to the tips of his fingers; a sharp cold river of power. It glowed in a makeshift halo there, too-hot, like a bulb that had been left on too long. But it did its job. The broken plant slowly began to knit itself back together. Castiel forced himself to stay upright until it was done.

He could hear his name being called as his knees gave out.


	13. Chapter 13

“Cas?!” Dean gasped, bursting through the door to his bedroom. Cas barely saw him through the blackness encroaching at the edges of his vision.

“Dean?” He managed, trying to push himself up from the ground. It was hard.

And then there were strong hands on his shoulders, pulling him partially upright, pressed against the warm solidity of Dean’s chest. It felt nice. 

“Cas, what the hell? What happened in here?”

And then Cas remembered that he was  _ upset  _ with Dean, and he tried to push him away. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters, Cas.” Dean snapped, easily dodging the angel’s attempts to brush him off. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Dean. I’m an angel again. You like me better this way, right? With my grace and my wings so I can fly away whenever you don’t want me around?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Cas? Where are you getting—“

Cas snapped. “From you! I’m getting it from you when you say how  _ relieved  _ you are that I’m an angel again.” Not that it mattered anymore. His grace was  _ burning  _ inside of him, what was left of it, anyway, spreading through his veins in blue light until he couldn’t keep from crying out. 

The sound interrupted whatever argument Dean was going to make. Instead, the hunter gripped him tighter, scanning over him in search of some kind of wound. His eyes widened when they landed on his hands, where his grace was still burning in rivulets of painful light. “Cas. Talk to me, man, what’s wrong?”

Cas sighed, tired and in pain and  _ scared,  _ now, of what he’d been denying for so long. “I made a deal.” He admitted, eyes closed, voice strained. 

He heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. “What deal, Cas?”

It came rushing out, suddenly. Cas was tired, and in pain, and he’d been planning on telling Dean the truth anyway. He didn’t have the energy to keep it in anymore. 

“I think when the Empty tied my grace to my life force, it set it up to drain it. I thought I just needed time, but…” He shook his head. “It said there would be a price. I just didn’t want to listen.”

“No.” Dean breathed, when Cas was finished. “No, that can’t...how could you be so stupid, Cas?”

Cas’ eyes snapped open, and he scowled. “What would you have had me do, Dean?” He growled, eyes glowing an angry blue. “Let Sam die? Because that’s what would have happened if I hadn’t done this. He’s your brother, Dean. He’s...he’s Sam. And besides, you didn’t want me, the way that I was. It’s better this way.”

Dean shook his head. “No, Cas. There has to be another way. We can--”

“Enough of this.”

The voice made Cas jump. He winced, trying to pull himself away from Dean, to separate him from the danger that was approaching. 

The Empty was standing in the doorway of Castiel’s bedroom. It was a dark shape there, rising stickily out of the darkness behind it. There was something tired about the slope of its shoulders, like it didn’t really want to be there at all. Castiel’s stomach turned. 

“Dean, go.” He tried to push himself up from the ground, but the hunter wouldn’t let go of him, and his body felt shaky anyway.

“I’m not leaving you, Cas.” Dean snapped. 

“Dean, you have to.” He insisted. “This isn’t just some monster you can fight. This is the Empty.”

“I don’t care what it is, it’s not taking you.” 

“Dean.” Cas forced himself up, managing to shove the hunter off by gripping the foot of his bed to tug himself to his feet. “I understand your price.” He said, facing the Empty. “Take me and leave the Winchesters in peace.”

“Like  _ hell. _ ” With that Dean leapt in front of Cas, charging at the Empty with an angel blade in his hand. He must have grabbed it from Castiel’s desk, but he couldn’t think about anything other than the pure terror of watching the man he loved throw himself at a primordial being.

“No!” But it was too late. The Empty lifted a hand, and a tendril of darkness struck out from behind it and batted Dean away like he was nothing. The darkness wrapped around his neck and shoved him hard against the wall, pinning him there. Dean gasped, hands lifting to scrabble at the force holding him there as his face turned red. “Dean!” Cas cried.

“Humans.” The Empty spat, turning its attention back to Cas. “Always sticking their strange little noses where they don’t belong.” It tilted its head. “Of course, this one won’t be doing that any longer.”

“Let him  _ go. _ ” Half a moment ago, if someone had asked Castiel to perform even the smallest display of angelic power, he would have told them it was impossible. His grace was twisting inside him like an injured animal. Just the thought of trying to use it made his whole body ache. But watching Dean gasp and struggle against the wall, hearing the Empty threaten his life, hurt so much more. 

His eyes glowed bright blue, the electricity of his grace crackling out from his hands.The room filled with light, surging toward the Empty. 

As the light faded, Cas fell to the ground again, staying upright long enough to see the Empty stumble back, stunned by the attack. It released Dean, and he fell to the ground, gasping as air finally made its way into his lungs. 

“Cas!” Dean gasped, stumbling over to him. 

The grace was still burning in his eyes. He could feel it, burning away at him. It didn’t matter that he’d attacked the Empty, that Dean didn’t want him to go. He could feel the darkness tugging at him. 

“Let it go, Cas.” Dean pleaded, tugging him to rest his head in his lap. “You said it’s your grace that’s hurting you, right? Just let it go.”

“I can’t.” Cas groaned, shaking his head. 

Dean put a hand on his cheek. “You have to.”

The angel closed his eyes. “You don’t mean that, Dean. I’d be human again. You don’t want me that way.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s not true.” His voice was almost as strained as Castiel’s was. “Cas, that’s not…I need you here. I...I  _ love  _ you.”

Cas’ eyes flickered open, and even through the heat of his dying grace he could see the tears gathering in Dean’s. “Don’t.” He pleaded. “Don’t say that. You can’t mean it. Not the way that I…” His voice broke. 

Dean just bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Cas’ lips. It felt warm, in a different way than the burning of his grace. For a moment he almost couldn’t feel it. And then Dean presses their foreheads together, and the angel closed his eyes.  “I mean it, Cas.”

“I can’t go back to being a burden to you.” Cas breathed. 

“You were never a burden, Cas.” Dean insisted. “Not to me.”

A shadow fell over them, and Cas gasped as a fresh wave of pain washed through him. 

“As sweet as all of this is, none of it matters.” The Empty mused, sounding detached. “He can’t just decide not to come with me.”

Dean looked up. “No. But you can.”

The Empty tilted its head to the side. “And why would I do that?”

Dean straightened, his shoulders seeming to grow broader as he wrapped himself protectively around Cas. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to make you regret it.”

The Empty made a sound almost like laughter, but Dean wasn’t phased. 

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” He asked, dark amusement in his voice. “I’m  _ Dean Winchester.  _ I don’t know what kind of dark, crusty hole on the universe you e been hiding in, but things like you know they should be afraid of me. And if you take my...if you take Cas away from me, you’ll live exactly long enough to wish you hadn’t.”

The Empty shook its head. “You’re a bug. You have no idea how to kill me.”

“Now I don’t.” Dean said, shrugging. “But I’ll figure it out.”

The Empty huffed, but it looked like there was maybe some doubt in its shape. Hard to tell with no facial expressions, though. “So you want me to give your pet angel something for nothing? That’s not how the world works.”

“So take it back.”

Cas’ voice was rough and weak, but he could still feel the gentle press of Dean’s lips against his, and it was battling with the pain and fear in his chest. If Dean wanted him, really wanted him, even as a human, then he wanted to live. He wanted to stay. 

“Take my grace. And leave me. And we will never bother you again. You can go back to sleep and forget about us.” He had to pause to catch his breath. He looked up at Dean. “But if I know anything about Dean, it’s that he’s stubborn. And he doesn’t give up on the people that he….that he loves.”

Even under the tense circumstances, a small smile found its way onto Dean’s face, and like the kiss it numbed the burn of grace inside Castiel. 

The Empty stayed. It watched. It was silent for a long, painful moment. 

And then, in a blink, it was gone. 


	14. epilogue

Cas didn’t remember the first few days after losing his grace for the second time. The way Dean told it, the Empty had disappeared and taken the fading light of his grace with it. After that, he’d passed out for a few days. 

When he woke up he was painfully, frighteningly, beautifully human again. 

His whole body still ached from the way his grace had burned out of him. He tired easily, and he had to sit more often than he liked to admit. But he was alive, and home, and best of all, Dean  _ wanted  _ him.

The first few days had been...awkward. It was almost as if their conversation on the floor of Castiel’s bedroom had never happened. Except that Castiel could think of nothing else, when Dean was around. 

And then, one day when Sam had already turned in for the night and Cas was sitting on the couch reading, Dean joined him, sitting a little bit too closer than normal. 

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas smiles, looking up from his book. 

The hunter looked nervous. He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, and he wouldn’t quite meet Cas’ eyes. “I was thinking...you’ve been cooped up in here for a long time. Some fresh air might be good for you. Would you wanna go for a drive?”

It was true that Cas had spent most of his time as a human, this time, indoors. He missed the sky and the trees and the wind. He set his book down. “I’d love that.”

Dean smiled. “Good. I’m. Great.”

So that was how they ended up lying on the hood of the Impala together, a blanket draped over the two of them, looking at the stars. Cas’ eyes were heavy, but he didn’t want to go back to the bunker. Not yet.

“Are you warm enough?” Dean asked. 

Cas turned his head to face him. “I am.”

Dean shook his head. “You look cold.” He slid his arm under Cas’ head, and tugged him closer, pillowing the former angel’s cheek on his shoulder. Cas hummed happily. “Better?”

“Better.” Cas agreed. He tipped his head back, searching Dean’s eyes. He was fairly sure the hunter was blushing, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. 

He still didn’t understand totally how this worked, but he thought he was starting to. He stretched up, and pressed their lips together, making sure to give Dean plenty of time to pull away.

He didn’t. 

It was a short kiss; just the soft brush of lips together before Cas relaxed against Dean again. He let his hand stretch under the blanket until he found Dean’s and threaded their fingers together. He could almost feel Dean smiling. 

And he’d never been happier to be human, because the warmth of Dean’s body against his was better than the weight of his wings. 


End file.
